Patriotism
by Hammsters
Summary: WARNING: What you're about to read is the classified tale of one agent's mission to help her nation against the newly reformed Axis Powers. Read as she faces romance in dusty attics, overrated sports cars, and the enemies of the country she loves at the dawn of World War Three. Can you believe it all started with a trip to the bathroom? Rated T because Eliza can't censor herself.
1. It All Began With a Trip to the Bathroom

**Hey peeps! So guess what! This is my first Hetalia fic ever! And you're all here to witness it, you lucky ducks. I'll warn you, the characters might be out of character. After all, it took me over a year to get the Lord of the Flies boys right, who knows what it'll take for these people. But I hope you guys'll enjoy the story and my...unique character Eliza.**

The halls of the Central Intelligence Agency's headquarters are more bustling than usual as I stride towards my office with Starbucks hot chocolate in my hand. Supposedly the director has scheduled an inspection for today, but seeing as they've said that three times just in the last month, I think it's safe to say that it's just a rumor. Still, a lot of the jumpier techies are anxious, including...

_April. _The second my phone buzzes in my pocket, I know it's my twin sister and a glance at the screen proves me right. I press 'accept call' and say, "What's up Ape-shit?" Normally, my sister would whine about my nickname for her, but she's obviously too worried to care.

"Ellie," she whines, using the nickname only she is allowed to call me, "I need your help."

"April, I have a job too now. I can't come to your aid everytime your shoelaces come untied. Have you considered velcrow?" I say sarcastically.

"But _Ellie!_" she pleads. I sigh.

"What do you need?" As I reply, I can just imagine her massive, pearly white grin, and grimace.

"I need to pee _really bad_ but I'm worried something will happen while I'm gone and the director will fire me and no business will take me and I'll have to live in a box and-" she starts hyperventilating, a clear indicator of why she's a tech-monkey and not an agent.

"Breathe April! Use your words!" I say, rolling my eyes. She takes a deep, somewhat huffy breath.

"Can you pretend to be me for, like, five minutes pleeeeeeeeaaaase!" April begs.

"April, I"m busy, and we'll get caught!" I reason. I wince when I realize what a goody goody I sound like.

"It went fine last time!" She reminds me, referring to that fateful day when she had a nervous breakdown before her job interview here and I was sent instead. It went fine actually...until they fingerprinted me at the end. It looked bad for a while, but they did a little research on both of us, were fairly impressed, and offered us both jobs. Strange, I know, but the details that hold it together are classified.

"We got caught," I point out.

"But they gave us both jobs anyway," April reasons. I roll my eyes. Damn logic, why can't she see I just don't want to help her?! "_Please Ellie!" _she whines, once again using her nickname for me from when she still couldn't quite pronounce 'Eliza.' I sigh.

"I'll be there in a minute," I say. She squeals. "Yeah, yeah, I"m sister of the year. Love ya, I"ll be there in a bit." Skipping the elevator in favor of the stairs, I dash up two at a time to the top floor, the control center; a whole floor wasted on super computers and April. Meanwhile my office is little more than a broom closet with a desk. Seems legit.

"April! Where are you?" She emerges from between two computers and an iPod doc playing One Direction obnoxiously. Her rather stylish reading glasses rest crookedly on the bridge of her freckled nose, ink is smudged along her jawline, her short blonde hair is lifted by static, and her face is lit up with a childish grin. I set my jaw. Of all the people to be identical to, of course I got her. Don't get me wrong, I'd die for my sister, but sometimes I just don't know about that girl. She disentangles herself from cords and wires and runs up to hug me. "Really April?" I say, squirming under her grip. "You know I'm not a hugger."

"I know, but I'm so glad to see you!" she says excitedly.

"Apes, we've shared a room since birth, you saw me this morning!" I point out. "Whatever, are you going to piss or not?" She releases me and jumps.

"Right! I'll be right back!" Then she races out of the room. Laughing a little in spite of myself, I clear away her mess and sit down in front of the main computer. Scanning my eyes over the screen, they stop on the shortcut to the files, probably only there to give April easy access. Every one of my nation's secrets is now at my fingertips, and it's just too tempting. I move the cursor to the link, close my eyes, and click.

"Oops," I say absentmindedly. I look again and find that the files are encrypted. _Good thing I know my sister, _I think.

For each of the five consecutive required cods, I type Apriphobia, PJOislife, 42, Mulan, and HeilDeutschland. I roll my eyes at the last one. Someday somebody's going to accuse her of being a crazed German spy, or something along those lines.

An endless list of files appears on the screen before me. I go through all the obvious ones (Area 51, aliens, World War II military secrets, etc.) but one thing particularly catches my eye: UN1. What's that about? I click on it, and to my surprise, this is the only individual file that's encrypted. Using my meager hacking skills, I run through all the codes I know until a box appears that reads 'Access Granted. Press 'Open' to view file.' The patriot in me knows I don't need to know my country's every secret, but the rebel in me doesn't really care. Let's just say the rebel won this time around.

Yet another long list including photos of men and women in their twenties appears before me. Also included is background information on each one. I click on the first one, a handsome young man with messy blonde hair and thick eyebrows.

_Names: United Kingdom, Great Britain, England  
Human name: Arthur Kirkland_

Confused by the name business, I skip ahead to the bio hoping to make sense of this whole thing. It's fairly generic, describing alliances and enemies of this Arthur guy, but then suddenly something really pops out at me.

_Kirkland is the living personification of the nation of Britain. _

I read on with more interest after this, and pieces slowly fall into place. Well, as much as the biography of a twenty year old who fought in the 100 Years War, the American Revolution, World War I, World War II, and many others can. Whoever this Arthur guy is, he's slightly more than human. And if he really _is _a country, he really needs to work on his relationship issues.

I speed through all the others, knowing that April will be back any second, and it all seems like variations of the first. Francis Bonnefoy, personification of France; Gilbert Beilshmidt, personification of East Germany; Feliciano Vargas, personification of Italy. If I believe in what I'm reading here- and I'm _not _saying I do- these guys really are the countries I've been reading about for as long as I can remember. I'm about to click on he information for a g-g-_gorgeous _man with blue eyes, glasses, and cowlicky hair when I hear the door open behind me and quickly close all the files.

"Hey Apes, good piss?" I say grinning at her.

"Actually, they were out of soap in the first bathroom and I didn't want to go without washing my hands because that's disgusting so I had to go to all the other ones-" she starts rambling.

"April, have I ever told you that you talk too much?" I ask. She pauses to think about it. "Guess not. Nice talk Ape-shit." And with that, I jump out of the chair and stroll out like I've done absolutely nothing wrong.

* * *

"-and so then me and my new boyfriend Enrique- he's a Puerto Rican gangbanger you know- marched off to Alaska and shared our abundant supplies of dosed Coke with all the needy penguins living there," my best friend and training partner Megan replies nonchalantly as I pummel the punching bag she's holding still for me. I hardly take in a word of what she says; instead my attention is entirely on the shaking bag and the sickening crack of my blistered knuckles each time they make contact.

"Uh-huh. That's great Meg," I say, pretending I've been keeping up with her story.

"I knew it! I knew you weren't listening to me!" she exclaims, seeming torn between disappointment in my poor listening skills and pride in her deductive abilities. "Seriously, what's up with you? You've been acting funny all week." I punch the bag a little less enthusiastically.

"Sorry Megan, I've just got a lot on my mind," I sigh, cursing at the stinging sensation in both my hands.

"Well, snap out of it! You're killing yourself with all this extra training!" She takes a good look at my hands and joins in my symphony of cursing. "Shit, Liza, you're bleeding!" I ignore her and take another swing, but she pulls the bag out of the way and grabs my wrist. My friend may be petite, but I've long since stopped underestimating her. This girl has been training in every kind of combat since the age of three, and I'm pretty sure she cracked a few bones in my wrist just now.

"All right, all right I'll stop!" I exclaim, pulling my arm back. "Can you get me some bandages?" She flips me the bird.

"Bitch, I'll take your drink away but I won't get within twenty feet of you during your hangover," she says philosophically.

"Nice metaphor, Socrates," I reply sarcastically. She bows.

"Thanks, I worked hard on it," she says. I walk over to the table where the medical supplies are kept and grab a roll of bandages. I'm just beginning to wrap my knuckles when I hear someone talking to the guard outside.

"Listen sir, I'm sorry but this is a private training room, you can't go in there." I open my mouth to call out to the guard asking who it is, but Megan holds a finger to her lips to tell me to shut the hell up. She does love herself some drama.

"I don't care if it's a private training room, I have orders to retrieve Miss Schleidden," replies a man with one really sexy British accent. Megan's eyebrows quirk up and she mouths, 'what'd you do?' I shrug.

"Can I see some ID?" the guard asks. I can tell he's joking- no damn Brit has the authorization to take a CIA agent from Langley in the middle of training- but our pal doesn't seem to get it.

"I'm the bloody director of MI6, you will let me in there," he says in a low voice, and I hear him pull something out of his jacket. Megan's eyebrow's widen some more, but this time when she mouths, 'seriously, what the hell did you do?!' I'm lying when I mouth back that I have no clue. Just then, the door swings open and in walks one attractive ma, about 6 foot tall and no more than 25, with wild hair and bushy eyebrows.

"Which one of you is Eliza Schleidden?" he asks, looking between me and Megan. I raise a hand and take a bow.

"'Twould be me, my fine fellow," I reply in an outrageously fake accent. Behind him, Megan draws a finger across her throat, signalling to shut my overly large trap. Eyebrows grimaces.

"Miss Schleidden, you are wanted by several national protection agencies and are hereby under arrest. You can come willingly or else you will be taken by force." I smirk at him and beckon him forward.

"Come get me then, _Kirkland_." He scowls again at the use of his name. I don't make any attempt to escape when he comes up and grabs both my wrists in one hand. He hesitates before cuffing me though.

"Is there anything else you can put on before we leave?" he asks uncomfortably. I look down at my favorite workout getup- a sports bra and yoga shorts. I smirk at him once again, then ask with mock concern, "Do my boobs intimidate you Arthur?" He gulps and blushes.

"Don't flatter yourself. It's only gentlemanly to allow you to cover yourself before escorting you out," he says, quickly regaining his composure. I jut my lower lip out condescendingly.

"How sweet. But this is all I've got with me, everything else is in my office," I say. "And I have a feeling you're not about to bring me to my office." He sighs and removes the jacket of his suit and drapes it over my shoulders.

"You're welcome," he hisses. He then cuffs me and leads me out of the room, leading me through the halls. "You know what this is about, I trust?"

"You betcha," I reply. "Don't get comfortable Artie. I've hacked the motherfucking CIA singlehandedly, do you really think I won't be able to get away from one little Brit?" He chuckles.

"I might look young, but I've got a lot more fighting experience than you," he replies.

"I never said you didn't," I respond. "But you wouldn't believe how beautifully these people _still _respond if you yell 'the British are coming' loud enough." I can tell I've hit a nerve when he sets his jaw and pushes me forward faster.

Not ten minutes later, I've been shoved through doors and gone through rooms no innocent agent of my clearance level has been through in centuries, gone through spaces I never could've gained access to in my lifetime, and in the end I'm locked in a great big glass cell with a bunch of creepy grown-up nerds staring in at me. I shudder at the feeling of being a bug in a glass jar and I can see Arthur laughing at me as he starts to leave the room. Angry, I throw off the jacket and yell, "Aw shit, the jacket's off! Fear me Arthur Kirkland! Fear me and my fucking boobs!" He doesn't respond and I get the impression that they can't hear a word I say. When he exits the room, I look around at the people watching me and sigh. "You people are going to be really boring aren't you?" They don't even so much as look at me.

Lovely.

**I hope you picked up on the incredible German-ness of her name. It took me forever to summon any German names out of my memory, most people I know are Irish. I hope you all liked it, please review and give me absolutely any feedback you have, I'll take whatever advice you guys have on how to improve!**


	2. Romano May or May Not Be Civil

**I'm baaaack! Did you miss me? Yeah, I bet you did. Sorry it took so long, I've been caught up with school and track and friends and gah my life is fucking busy now! It almost makes me miss middle-school. Almost. Enjoy the chapter!**

It'll be a week at the most. They can't keep me in here forever, I'm the best honeypot they've got. I have a mission in a month, they need me for that. Yeah, it'll be a week, tops.

That's what I was thinking two months ago.

This isn't so bad. Sure, I have to live in the clothes I got here in, but they wash them while I'm in the shower. Besides, I look hella fine in this guy's jacket. Sure, I haven't had a cigarette since the nighte before they nabbed me, but I was trying to quit anyway. Yeah, I can get used to this.

That's what I was thinking yesterday.

Today? Oh, today I'm tearing my hair out.

"This is not where I want to be right now! I want to go home! I want a change of clothes! And you!" I go up to the glass wall and point to a particularly annoying guy who enjoys checking me out when he thinks I'm not looking. "I want you to poke your own perverted eyes out!" Outside, the security nerds pay me no mind. I sigh and drop onto my ass in the center of my box. "And you people can't hear me."

Of course, they know I"m probably throwing a tantrum. There's usually two or three a week, and I'm usually pretty routine about which days they happen on. What can I say? Once a spoiled little girl, always a spoiled little girl.

"You know," I continue even though I'm aware they can't hear me, "fifteen years ago, _I _was important. _I _was on every one of your TV sets! My daddy could've made you all sorry!"

"And how would he do that?" A pompous voice says from behind me.

"Shit!" I exclaim, leaping to my feet and turning to face the intruder. England stands two feet away in the door that's remained locked since he closed it. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

"I did, but this is sound proof glass," he replies. Damn, he's got me there.

"Ah, well, where are my manners? Welcome to my humble abode, let me give you the grand tour," I say sarcastically. "That's the corner I sleep in, that's the wall through which my dear perverted friend stares at me, and here's the door. Don't let it hit you on the way out." He barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

"I didn't come to bicker with you," he says. "My colleagues and I need to have a word with you." Before I can open my mouth to ask him why, he gestures for me to walk out before him. "Ladies first, I'll lead you to the meeting room."

* * *

Five minutes later, I'm surrounded by extremely attractive men: a tall, well dressed man with blonde hair, a short black-haired Chinese man whose hands are nowhere to be found, and a grumpy young man- nineteen or twenty at the oldest- who looks severely unhappy to be here. At the back of the room is a chalkboard bearing the words 'I will be civil, I will be civil,' repeatedly. I choose to ignore it.

"Ah, so this is the petite fille who caused such a big problem," the blonde says in an outrageously stereotypical French accent. "Bonjour madamoiselle, my name is Francis Bonnefoy, but you might know me as France." I smile sweetly.

"Bonjour Francis, mon nom est Eliza Schleidden," I say, shaking his hand.

"Ah, vous parlez francais?" he asks.

"Oh monsieur," I reply. "Cela faisait partie de ma formation."

"Votre elegance est tout a fait attrayant," he says flirtatiously. "Porquoi mon cher, si je pou vais-"

"All right, that's enough!" England interrupts. "I've got my eye on you, bloody frog." He leads me towards the Chinese man. "This is China, or if you prefer human names, Yao Wang." I bow slightly to him.

"Nice to meet you," I say. "I apologize, but I haven't had the opportunity to learn your language yet."

"Of course you're respectful to them," England snorts before China can speak.

"I spent two months in a glass box and these guys are my chance out," I murmur back. He rolls his eyes.

"Well, let's get down to business then shall-"

"Oi, bastardo!" the young brown-haired guy interrupts. "Forgetting someone?" England winces.

"Of course not," he says, turning to face him. "This is Romano, he represents Southern ITaly. He is our informant." I reach out to shake his hand but instead he takes mine and kisses the back boredly.

"Ciao bella," he says with as much boredom in his voice as in his action. "Call me Lovino." I can't say I'm fond of his attitude, but he's got to be the prettiest boy I've ever seen- not mature and handsome like the others in the room, but very, _very _pretty- so I'll let it fly.

"Piacere di conoscervi Lovino," I say sweetly. He just rolls his eyes.

"You don't need to kiss up to me, I'm not the official representation of my country idiota. I have very little say in what happens to you," he replies. I quickly drop the charade.

"Affascinante," I mumble sarcastically.

"Abituati ad esso," he mumbles back. England manages to catch our attention.

"Remember what you promised Romano," he says, pointing to the chalkboard at the back. "We can make you write it again." Lovino mutters that it won't be necessary and England orders us to our seats. "Before we begin anything, how many languages are you familiar with?" I shrug.

"Multiple. Any in particular you're wondering about?" I ask.

"Well, obviously you speak Italian, but it would help for you to know the other Axis languages as well. Do you know Spanish?" I roll my eyes.

"They start teaching you Spanish in the third grade at most schools," I reply. "I've been fluent since high school." He scowls at my attitude, but says nothing.

"Japanese?"

"I started learning it a month or two before you locked me up. I just know enough to get by."

"Hungarian?"

"I studied that and Polish last year. I'm nearly fluent," I say.

"German?" This, I can't help but smirk at.

"My father was the American ambassador in Germany. I moved there before I could talk and didn't leave until I was nine," I say, leaning way back in my chair. "Englisch ist nicht meine erste Sprache." The room is silent for a moment.

"How did you miss that in her file aru?!" China yells at England.

"Should we be worried?" France asks, a strange look in his eyes.

"Ah, she's a good girl!" A voice comes from behind the door. England growls and bolts up and out the door. China runs over and tries to cover my ears but I swat him away.

"What are you doing?!" I hear England outside. "You were supposed to stay with him Russia!"

"Da, but I do not want to become one with him," someone answers in a thick Russian accent.

"Hey, you'd be lucky to become one with me, you commie!" an American voice answers.

"Wasn't Canada supposed to be with you too? Where's he?" England asks.

"What are you talking about? Mattie's right there!"

"Where?" England asks.

"I'm right here!" a soft voice answers.

"Who are you?" the Russian asks.

"I'm Canada!"

"Oh, would you three just get out of here?!" England exclaims.

"You're a good girl and don't let 'em say otherwise Eliza!" the American yells through the door one last time before I hear footsteps retreating. England walks back in and drops back into his seat tiredly.

"Who was that and why does he seem to think I'm a good girl?" I ask. England just sighs and France chuckles.

"What is wrong Angleterre, don't you want to tell her about your darling little brother?" France asks teasingly. England runs a hand through his already messy hair.

"That was America," he says. "Canada and Russia were supposed to keep him away from here."

"Why?" I ask in confusion. "I'd love to meet him!" Lovino rolls his eyes.

"Eliza, as an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency, what would you be willing to do for your country?" he asks as if he already knows the answer. My answer is instinct.

"I'd die for my country."

"Well there you have it," he replies.

Seeing my confusion, England says, "The states and territories of every country don't just show up like we do. They're like our children, America's no different and-"

"Obviously, America has been busy," Lovino finishes.

"If you met him, mon cher, neither of you would be able to resist, ohonhonhon," France laughs. I grimace.

"I wouldn't do that!" I exclaim.

"Every patriotic girl he's met has," Lovino says. China mumbles something about this applying to patriotic men too. I try to wipe it from my memory.

"Look, we need to get down to business," England says. "Eliza, we have a mission for you." I sigh resignedly.

"Should've guessed. Who is it this time?" I ask.

"What're you talking about?" England asks, eyebrows furrowed. It occurs to me that if they didn't know about my dad, they probably don't realize the true nature of my profession.

"Nevermind," I say quickly. They brush it off.

"A lot has changed in two months," England says. "You may recall from the news that tensions were bad between many of the countries." I nod. The bad relations between nations that had participated in the world wars was all over the news. "Well, since we arrested you, the ambassadors from America, England, France, Russia, China, and Canada were murdered in three countries." My blood runs cold; fifteen years ago, that could've been my dad.

"Which countries?" I ask. To my surprise, it's the Italian that answers.

"Germany, Japan," he takes a deep breath before finishing, "and Italy."

"What?!" I snap, bolting out of my seat and starting towards him. "Then what the hell are you doing here you little-" England and France grab me by the arms and gently pull me back to my seat.

"It was a decision his brother made," England interrupts me.

"The potato-bastards did it!" Lovino says, jumping to his feet and slamming his hands down on the table. "Veneziano would never-"

"Understood, Romano," England cuts him off.

"We would not have made zis deal with you if we thought Italy knew what he was doing."

"What _is _your deal with him?" I ask.

"He spies for us, we spare him and his brother the consequences at the end of the war," England says. "We have the world superpowers. They have Italy. Even Romano can see how this ends for the re-formed Axis. Our job for you is similar. Your unique situation gives us an advantage we didn't have during the World Wars. Never before has a citizen that wasn't a national leader known our secret, and that combined with your training as a spy makes you very useful. We want you to spy on the Axis by infiltrating one of their homes."

"By zis he means you will charm and zen live with one of zem," France says.

"On both Romano's and America's insistance, it will be Spain."

"I hate that damn tomato bastard, but he'll be the most compassionate to you if you fuck up and get caught," Lovino explains. England passes me a file folder overflowing with pages.

"This has all the information you'll need, along with various photos of all of them," he says. "You'll be able to tell Romano's younger brother Italy, and it's likely you'll recognize Germany. He would've worked closely with your father." As I flip through the pages, I stop on a picture and smile at the familiar faces.

"I know them!" I exclaim giddily, holding up the picture of a silver-haired albino and his handsome little brother. "These are the Beilshmidt brothers! Gil used to play games and bring candies for me and April while Mr. Beilshmidt was in meetings with Daddy!" For some reason, the Allies seem a little pissed.

"He did what, aru?!"

"Unacceptable!"

"Bloody bastard!" England yells. "He let that- that _abomination _around children!" Now I'm seriously lost.

"What're you talking about?" I ask. "Apes and I loved Gil."

"He's the one who orchestrated this whole thing!" England exclaims. "He's a foul, murderous, demonic-"

"What's he on about?" I ask.

"Gilbert's like us," Lovino answers. "He represented Prussia when he was a nation."

"And he was supposed to have been killed nearly a hundred years ago!" England exclaims. "Instead, bloody Poland let him live and helped hide him! He knows as well as all of us what a danger Prussia is!" Every muscle in my body is tensed and I sit in stony silence, trying and failing to connect the aggressive, power hungry nation with the man who let me pet his bird and gave me my first Toblerone.

"He's not that bad a guy!" Lovino argues suddenly. "Sure, I hated all the tomato bastards friends-"

"Hey!" France yells, seeming slightly miffed.

"-but he never did anything bad enough to deserve death. During times of peace he was nice enough, and he used to protect me from that frog-bastard and the tomato-bastard when they got drunk."

"But times of peace weren't all that common for him," England replied solemnly. "And during wars he was a malicious, violent sociopath with no desire other than to cause as much bloodshed as possible." Lovino has no response to this other than, "I was proud to hide him from you."

As soon as France and China calm the two arguing nations down, the four countries explain the whole story, Lovino providing most of the details. About halfway into the twentieth century, just at the end of World War II, it became more than clear to most nations that Prussia was far to blood thirsty and dangerous to remain. His lands were promised to be divided between Germany, Poland, and Russia, and the task of getting rid of him was entrusted to Poland. However, to put it Lovino's way, Poland didn't have the balls to do it. So instead he helped Prussia flee to Germany. His younger brother immediately gave the eastern half of his land to Prussia in order to keep him alive, and since then all the nations who didn't agree with Prussia's death sentence- both Italy brothers, Austria, Hungary, Germany, Japan, Spain, Poland, and Lithuania- had helped to hid him.

But as a nation, Prussia couldn't handle having nothing to do with his new country. He took on the general opinions and emotions of the Eastern Germans, but only Germany could voice these for him. He'd been good all those years, but the built up rage within him snapped and suddenly each of the Allies were short an ambassador. Knowing that because of this the Allied nations would declare full-scale war against Germany, the nations that were the closest to the two brothers did the same with the Allied ambassadors in their countries.

Judging by the look in Lovino's eyes, I doubt his brother was the one to pull the trigger.

Now all eight countries are at war with the six Allies. Sort of. The only nations currently fighting are the three original members of the Axis along with Austria, Hungary, and obviously Prussia; and for the Allies, England, Russia, France, and China. Poland, Lithuania, and SPain, despite having made their allegiances clear, have yet to take part in any actual fighting. America, despite the fact that even England admits that he could be a deciding factor, can't spare any man power from his war against terrorism just yet; although, they tell me he seems to think he's almost finished them off this time. Canada's troops are being kept in his country until they're needed, seeing as they could use the extra training and it costs a helluva lot of money to get them all to Europe.

"So what do you need me to do?" I ask when they finish. France pulls out a pack of cigarettes and, when he sees me eyeing them, offers me one, but I say no. "I'm trying to quit," I murmur.

"Your job will be easy enough," England says calmly. "Spain is a trusting man, it won't be hard to get close to him. Find a way into his house- Romano can help you with that- and while you're living with him try to listen in on his conversations with other members of the Axis and snoop around his belongings whenever you can. If you find anything suspicious, tell Romano or try to get in contact with us directly. The smallest detail could be useful." I nod.

"Right. When do I leave?" I ask.

"We can arrange for you to be brought out in as soon as a week," England replies.

"Best get studying then," I say. I flip open the folder they gave me again and the first thing I see is a black and white photo of Ludwig and Gilbert Beilshchmidt smirking demonically in bloodstained Nazi uniforms. A wave of nausea overcomes me.

"On second thought Francey-pants," I say numbly. "I think I'm going to need that smoke."

**Yeah, I know this is a lot of information to absorb, but just to recap, Poland was supposed to kill Prussia at the end of World War II but instead he and seven others have been helping to protect him ever since, and now Prussia has everyone fighting for his right to be a country again. Romano knows they're going to lose, so he's spying for the Allies, and the Allies are also sending Eliza over since she is the first spy from any of the countries to know about the countries' personifications. Is that a little easier to understand? Good. Pleeeeeeeaaaaase review, it would make my day!**


	3. And OH MY GOD THEY'RE ALL JUST SO CUTE

**Oh god, this took me so long to write, and the ending sucks, and the conversations are forced, and GAH! I'M SO SORRY THIS SUCKS SO BAD. Enjoy.**

Oh how a week flies, let me count the ways.

Okay, forgive me, that sucked. You'd think that spending almost ever minute of an entire week with the two most artsy countries would have a positive influence on me- but nope. It seems I'm still sadly lacking in the creativity department. At least I gave it the old college try.

Spending my days with Romano and France (on England's insistance that they could teach me more about Spain than any of the other Allies) hasn't been a complete waste though. I think England was understating it when he said that they knew the most of any of the Allies. Talk to his former best friend and the boy he raised for a while, and I doubt even Spain could tell you more about himself.

Lesson number one: Be yourself, but be us too.

France and Romano seem to think that between my pervertedness and mildly angry temperament Spain will like me. But they also know Spain and have advised me to dance the line between being unique and acting like them. Spain misses the time before being France's enemy. If I remind him of his friend he'll be comfortable around me, but if I remind him too much of France it'll just remind him of their current "relationship issues" and scare him off. To make a start, I've been drenching myself in rose scented perfume, lotion, deoderant, soap, and shampoo. France smells like the freaking garden of Eden, so I will too.

Lesson number two: don't mention England. Ever. It pisses him off.

That's really all that needs to be said.

Lesson number three: pretend not to know Spanish. It's a good strategy for obtaining information, and for some reason Spain thinks it's adorable.

Lesson number four: For the most part, Spain is straight as a ruler. Except, of course, for when it comes to Romano. Some strange twist of sexuality made him extremely gay for Romano. I should try not to be too shocked if I catch him putting the moves on Romano while the Axis are in Spain.

Spain the place, not the person. The Axis won't be _in _Spain the person.

At least, I hope not. That'd be awkward.

They taught me much more than this, but these are the four details that most stuck out to me. And, as I now board Romano's private jet with the Italian himself at one in the morning, I pray that those four will help me get by.

* * *

"You understand the plan?" Romano asks three hours later after- I kid you not- parachuting into a forest preserve in Spain at four in the morning. I step out from behind a bushm now wearing a curly red wig and a blue and white striped sundress instead of the helmet and skydiving suit I arrived in.

"I should hope so," I say pleasantly. "I did help think of it." He rolls his eyes.

"I don't need your sarcasm sorellina," he says, fastening the last button of his tan military uniform.

"I told you not to call me that Lovino," I groan. At some point during one of our "lessons" we got really drunk and decided that since we were both sick of being the lesser siblings, Italy could have April and Romano and me could totally be brother and sister instead. He's been jokingly calling me 'little sister' ever since. He laughs.

"Whatever _cagna_, start getting ready." I sigh and start mussing up my hair while spreading the contents of a packet of, _ahem, _"fake" blood over my skin and clothing. I continue preparations for about five minuts and when I'm done my clothes are torn, there are twigs in my hair, and my skin looks scratched. However, it still seems like something is missing. I look at Lovi.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" I ask. He nods.

"Nothing you do wil make you uglier than you are naturally," he offers sadly. I slap him on the arm.

"Shut up," I laugh. I step closer, putting a hand on his shoulder lightly. "I have something in mind that could really pull it all together." He gulps and pulls back slightly.

"W-What're you doing bastarda?" I smile and shrug, reaching toward his hair.

"You know, France and I have a bet going about that curl of yours," I murmur. His eyes widen, but before he can move, I grab hold of the curl and give it a good yank. He growls, I yelp, and before I know what's happening, we're in a very, um, compromising position. I'm lying flat on my back and he's leaning over me with a hand on my thigh and his mouth at my neck, biting down slightly. He jumps a little and moves so that he's not touching me.

"_Don't _touch that," he pants. My eyes are wide at his reaction, then I curse.

"Looks like I owe Francey-pants twenty bucks," I mutter. Romano sighs and pushes his hair out of his face. It's then that I notice the delicate chain hanging around his neck.

It's an old rosary, made mostly of wooden beads but held together in some places with little silver links. Some pieces appear several hundred years old, but others are recent, as if beads broke of and had to be replaced. The shininess on each bead, especially the crucifix, shows it's been prayed over often, and recently. I smile, and for once I'm not being sarcastic when I say, "That's cute Lovi." He turns bright red.

"Shut up," he replies, stuffing it down his shirt and climbing off me. He helps me to my feet, and as he does, I note the feeling of real scratches on the backs of my legs and arms from the ground. Romano looks at me and blushes harder. "I left a bitemark. Sorry." I grin.

"That was the point," I reply. "Now my costume is complete. Shall we go?" He nods.

"We've only got about fifteen minutes to get to the road before him." We start walking, and after a while I smirk at him.

"Curls make you horny, huh?" I say teasingly.

"_Shut up!"_

A minute or so later, we're crouched in the shadows behind a bush at the side of a rather lonely road. The sun hasn't yet risen and the road is completely unlit, without even any headlights to be seen. I glance at Romano.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" I whisper. He pauses a moment before answering, then points down the orad where two pinpoints of light have appeared. He's arrived just on time. Who would've guessed that even centuries after Romano stopped living with him he followed similar routines?

"_Five, four," _the lights grow closer, "_three, two one," _they're almost to us, "Go!" I rise out of the crouching position and stumble into the roadm using my right arm to shield my eyes from the light. The other one, I stretch out before me.

"Stop!" I yell. "Please stop!" The car, a highly overrated red Ferarri, skids to a halt a few feet in front of me and the driver hastily jumps out.

"¿Se encuentra bien? Señorita?" he asks. I begin swaying and stumbling and he gently grabs my shoulders to steady me. I press my fingertips to my forehead, then look at him in confusion.

"No hablo español," I murmur, making sure to pronounce it wrong. "Please help." It's then that I lose my balance and pretend to faint in his arms. He curses fervently and then carries me bridal style to his car.

"Don't worry señorita, I'll get you to the hospital," he mutters, more to himself than to me. While he's climbing into the driver's seat, I glance over to where I left Romano, but he's nowhere to be seen. I fight the urge to sigh. I should've guessed he wouldn't stay after I started. Noticing that he's into his seat now, I rest my head back and allow myself to fall asleep.

* * *

I wake up sometime later in a brightly lit room surrounded with machines- which, luckily, are turned off- and for some reason, chairs. At the foot of the hospital bed I'm laying in is a nurse, who is adjusting the blankets which have balled up around my feet. I sit up and she glances up at me, smiling.

"Gracias a Dios que estás despierto!" she says, sounding relieved. "Has estado durmiendo desde hace bastante tiempo. Su novio ha estado preocupando." I run a hand through my hair and pretend to seem confused again.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish." I think for a moment, then correct myself. "No hablo español." She nods in understanding.

"Un momento por favor." She exits the room, and in a minute or so, returns with another nurse.

"Hola," she says, smiling. "I'm told you have a communication issue." Her English is good, but her thick accent makes it hard for me not to giggle.

"Yes," I say apologetically. "I'm American, I'm afraid the only Spanish I know is what I learned from Dora the Explorer." She laughs.

"That's all right, just consider yourself lucky. In our current situation with America and other countries right now, not everyone would've brought you in," she says, sighing. "Some people are pretty hostile about it."

"So I've noticed," I reply. "My family was trying to get over to France. We heard about some of the stuff going on here." She nods.

"Smart idea," she says. "Now let's get down to business. You have a few cuts and bruises here and there, but other than that and seeming a little shaken up, you'll be fine. We can release you this afternoon." I smile.

"Good, thank you."

"If you really want to thank someone, the young man who brought you in is still here," she says. "He's been waiting out there to make sure you're okay all night. Do you mind if we let him in to see you?" I nod quickly.

"Of course, I need to thank him after all." Both nurses nod and leave the room. A few minutes later, a young man of about 25 years with shaggy brown hair and bright green eyes. I fight the urge to die on the spot. Like all the other nations I've met, Spain is drop dead sexy. He seems a little anxious when he walks in, but his face lights up in a genuine smile when he sees I'm fine.

"Hola, er, hello I mean," he corrects himself in the most stereotypical (and adorable) Spanish accent I've ever heard. "You said you don't speak Spanish, right?" I feign surprise.

"You speak English?" I ask. He nods, still grinning.

"I had friends living in America and England, I speak English very well," he replies. I smile in relief.

"Looks like I got lucky then. I barely know a word of Spanish, and that would make it kind of hard to thank you for bringing me here," I say, then adding awkwardly, "So, uh. Thanks." He laughs.

"It was no problem señorita," he says. "Oh, excuse me I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. You can call me Toni." I laugh.

"That's quite the name you've got there. I'm Liza Schneider," I say, adding teasingly, "You can call me Liza." He grins.

"Encantado!" I smile back, a little awkwardly. Normally my targets aren't so... friendly? Childish? _Nice? _ "So what happened to you anyway?" I'm a little caught off gaurd by the bluntness of his question, but Romano and France warned me that he didn't really understand the whole transitioning thing. I look down at my hands.

"I was on vacation with my family here when the war started," I begin. "We heard about how in some countries, citizens were sort of rioting and attacking people from the Allied nations. We got scared and last night we got tickets to take a train across the border into France. I got a little lost in the train station and ended up missing the train, while the rest of my family made it. So I thought I remembered seeing a cheap little motel a few blocks away and I thought I could just spend the night there. I had a little English to Spanish book my parents bought me, I had some money with me, I didn't think it would be that bad. But it was dark..." I trail off a bit at this part, glancing up to meet his now worried eyes for just a second before looking back down again. "Some guys jumped me from behind. I woke up in the woods somewhere, they were all sitting with their back to me, thinking I was still unconscious. All my money was gone, my clothes were torn, and I could hear them talking about me in Spanish. I snuck off, but after a while they figured it out and started chasing me. I got to the road, and then that's where you found me." I look up and smile at him. He offers me a half-hearted one in return, but he seems saddened by my made up story.

"There's been a lot like that happening since the war started," he says sadly. _I know, that's why we picked it as a back story. "_All the people who come visiting from our enemy countries get kidnapped, men are forced to work and women are sold into prostitution." He looks so deeply upset by this that I just want to hug him and blurt out that I was lying, that I'm spying on him and I totally deserve to go to prison or something. Yeah. He looked _that _pitiful.

"Don't feel bad about it. I'll figure out a way out of here," I say. He shakes his head.

"They closed the border between us and France this morning. You're stuck here," he says. I fake a panicked look, then take a deep breath.

"I'll still figure something out. I can work, I'll just get a job somewhere," I say. He looks at me with concern and I smile at him again. "Don't worry about me."

"Please, let me help you," he says pleadingly. I shake my head.

"No, you've done enough for me," I say, offering the worst possible joke in this situation. "If it weren't for you the only job I'd have right now is working the corners." He looks mildly scandalized by this and I mentally facepalm.

"No really, it's no trouble," he insists. "My family has a lot of money, I have a big house, you can stay with me as long as you need."

"Oh no! I could never ask that!" I say just as insistantly.

"No really, do it for me then," he tries. "It's kind of lonely over there now. Several of our staffmembers had to leave because of the war. The groundskeepers got drafted and many of the maids had to leave to look after their families when male family members were drafted." I get a shocked expression when he talks about his workers and he almost smiles. "I told you, I have _a lot _of money and a big house." I consider this for a moment, remembering something Romano told me during the first few days of our lessons.

"I will stay with you," I say slowly. His face lights up again and he opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him. "But on one exception."

"What's that?" he asks.

"I'll help out as a maid," I say. "I don't want to live with you if I have no way of paying you back for any of my expenses, so I'll earn my stay." He begins to argue, but I interrupt him again. "Nothing you say will sway me on this. I either work for you or live on the streets." He sighs, and laughs a little.

"Why so stubborn?" he asks. I grin and jab my thumb into my chest, proclaiming, "Because that's the American way!" He laughs, a real laugh this time.

"You remind me of my friend, Alfred," he explains when I give him a questioning look. "It's something he would say," he sighs. "I haven't seen him in a while." He perks up almost instantly, though, and before I know it we're headed out the door and he's rambling about all the children he and his family fostered while he was growing up. More like countries he colonized, but for obvious reasons, I don't correct him.

"-and then there was Alfred, the one I was telling you about earlier," he says, pointing to one of the dozens of pictures in his wallet as we head towards his car. "Wasn't he just so cute?! He wasn't with us very long, he was too cute for that. He got adopted by a British family when he was about five, and moved to America when he was eighteen." He thinks for a moment. "So last year, I guess then. Anyway, we also had Maria at about that time, she was cute too. She had the most _adorable _crush on Alfred, but she hated me because I told her that she couldn't like Alfred because until they were adopted they were brother and sister and that would be just gross." He laughs. "She lives in Mexico now. I think she's about seventeen at this point." As we climb into the car, he looks through his pictures and practically squeals at a particular one. He shoves a photo of an angry looking seven year old with big brown eyes, a red face, and a strange curl sticking out of the side of his head. I stifle a burst of laughter upon recognizing him. "And this is mi tomate Lovi! We fostered him starting when he was seven and until he was eighteen. He was just so cute, but nobody adopted him because he swore so much," he said sadly. "His hermano, Feliciano, he got adopted when they were six and moved to Austria. They didn't like Lovi's potty mouth so they only adopted his brother. It's okay though, because when they turned eighteen they both moved to Italy and were together again!" He glances up at me- and as cliche as it sounds- his eyes are sparkling from talking about all the little nations. "You'll probably get to meet them, they visit a lot."

It's at this point that he reluctantly puts his wallet away so that he can begin driving. However, this doesn't stop him from rambling about everything from the tomatoes we'll have with dinner tonight to all the wonderful and exotic people who will eventually be staying with us, and all the while I can't help but laugh at how excited everything makes him. I won't lie, I think I'm going to like this mission a lot more than I expected.

**Yeah, I'm sorry that Spain's so out of character. But that was the point of that whole rambling paragraph in which he coos over all the chibinations. I thought it would make him seem more in character, but I think all it did was make him seem like a ditz, and maybe even a pedophile. But, c'est la vie. Please review!**


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